I peered dubiously into the depths of the Styrofoam cup clenched in my 14-year-old hand. Experimentally I dabbed at the contents with my flimsy plastic spoon. I could identify a thin broth with globules of grease skating on the surface, a few grains of white rice, and some shreds of meat. But what was this other stuff? Some of it looked like wide, small diameter rubber bands. There was also a quantity of an amorphous, porous gel-like substance. At my elbow somebody was talking. Nearly hypnotized with morbid fascination as I was, it was difficult to tear my gaze away from the Styrofoam cup, but when I managed to do so, I beheld Moose Hole elder, Jacob Thaddeus grinning at me. The beating of drums and Athabascan singing that accompanied the current dance made it difficult to hear what he was saying. I leaned closer.
“Moose nose stew.” He jabbed a finger at my Styrofoam cup. “Eeee, so good! My daughter, he cook for potlatch. Make you strong!”
He was right. It did make me strong. Just hearing the stuff identified was already having that effect on me. I felt my abdomen muscles tighten. I found myself clenching my teeth together with a strength I did not know I possessed, as I held back an undeniably strong impulse to gag.
To read the rest of the story click here